


Jamie Carter, Archaeologist

by ThatHaddario



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf trumps Starbucks every time, Coffee Shops, Inhumans (Marvel), Jamie Carter - Archaeologist, Multi, My best research or the best of my imagination, Strictly MCU (ships and timeline), adventerous archaeology, tags will be updated as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-05 17:17:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6713854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatHaddario/pseuds/ThatHaddario
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jamie Carter, Archaeologist. Basically the Indiana Jones of the MCU that you didn't know you wanted, except geeky and awkward and shy. Let's see where this goes from here. <br/>The story begins shortly after the finale of season 2 of AoS, and proceeds from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. May 15, 2015

Jamie Carter was utterly confused. The ordinary-looking man in the extraordinary-looking suit and the black sling sitting in front of him seemed to notice that, for which Jamie was rather thankful.  
“President Glenn, Professor Bellevue, will you excuse us for a moment? Mr. Carter seems to be in need of some fresh air,” said the man, and Jamie nodded feebly.  
“Of course, of course, by all means. Quite the surprise. Quite the surprise. Such a magnanimous offer for such a young researcher. Brilliant researcher, truly, but very young…” President Glenn’s blabber trailed off in the musky office.  
“Mr. Carter, walk with me?” asked the man. Compton? Carlson? Jamie struggled, until his professor’s curt voice startled him.  
“Jamie.”  
“Yes. Yes. Of course. Sorry, I…” Jamie was mortified by the twitch of the corner of the man’s lips, and then was mortified again a second later when he tripped on his own feet, the sofa leg and the straps of his bag in one disastrous movement. Coulson! That was the name. Mr. Coulson gently held Jamie’s elbow and guided him toward the door. Throwing one last bewildered glance at the two administrators behind him, Jamie let himself be led out of the office and toward the pristine lawns that lay outside.  
“Mr. Carter, forgive me. That must’ve been quite overwhelming for you,” said Mr. Coulson gently.  
“Jamie. Uh, I’m Jamie. And, well, that’s okay. I was- You just caught me by surprise, that’s all. Thank you very much for your kind offer,” Jamie added timidly.  
“You’re welcome. Would you like to sit somewhere, perhaps with better air and more coffee? We have some details to discuss.”  
“Uh, yeah. Coffee.” Jamie struggled to regain his bearings. The last time he had been this lost on campus it took two cups of mushroom-tainted tea. “There’s a nice coffeehouse that way, it’s a few minutes’ walk but the coffee - and the tea - are worth it.”  
“Are you a tea person, then?”  
“Sometimes. I mean, I drink coffee as much as the next guy, probably more, I don’t know what I’d do without coffee. But some moments call for tea, I think. It settles me down, usually,” Jamie finished lamely.  
“I can understand that. I’m the same way, myself, I suppose.” Coulson strolled beside Jamie, his back straight and his eyes calmly wandering on his surroundings.  
The two men walked side by side into the major chain-store coffee shop, and sat at a shiny chrome table on shiny, black plastic chairs. Mr. Coulson seemed as much at home here as he did in the respectable, oak-clad offices of the President of the University, Jamie noticed, fidgeting under the glowing fluorescents. Coulson waved at a waitress, ordered an Americano. Jamie ordered an herbal tea. The waitress left. Jamie continued to fidget.  
“So, Jamie. How’s college working for you?” Coulson asked.  
“Well, uh. Well, I suppose.”  
“Twenty and on a fast-track to a Ph.D., right?”  
“Yeah,” Jamie blushed.  
“So, yes. I would assume it’s working well for you.” That twitch again, at the corner of the mouth as well as the edges of the blue eyes. Almost unnoticeable. “And you’re working, too, right?”  
“Yeah.” He paused, deliberated. Then, in a rush, asked, “Why do you care?”  
“Excuse me?”  
“God, sorry. Foot in my mouth. Yes. I wait tables at the Mom and Pop restaurant place in town.” Mr. Coulson waited. “What I meant, um, I’m just surprised that you’re interested in these sorts of things. Although I must admit I don’t know how research grants work, I’ve never gotten one before. And you seemed genuinely interested. I guess it’s your job to be, I was just caught by surprise.”  
Coulson smiled then, a genuinely pleasant smile. “Why would the fact that this is my job mean that I’m not truly interested?”  
“Oh. It wouldn’t.”  
“Would you prefer we spoke about your grant?”  
“Honestly? Kind of. That way I know more or less where I stand.”  
“I admire your honesty, Jamie.”  
“Thanks,” he replied automatically.  
“So, the grant. In short, the people I represent have an interest in your area of research, and would like to see it developed in depth. Seeing as you are currently the only person in the world who specializes in this field, they have decided to give you a boost,” Coulson explained.  
“Your bosses are interested in the influence of alien technology on ancient civilizations?”  
“Specifically, the Kree influence, technologically, biologically and anthropologically. Which I understand are the three foundation stones of your thesis.”  
Jamie nodded.  
“What my employers want from you is to continue your current line of research. In return, they offer sufficient funds to keep you from needing to find any other employment, as well as to cover any and all costs your research requires. This includes equipment, food and housing, travel expenses, and whatever else you require.”  
“What’s my yearly budget?”  
“I doubt you will reach it.” Coulson leaned back in his chair, clearly signaling that the ball was in Jamie’s court. “Any questions?”  
“So many. Do I have any obligations to your employers?” Jamie asked.  
“Of a sort. My employers would like you to check in by email or by phone once a week, and a monthly meeting. Also, we ask that any time you travel outside the country, you will be accompanied by a company security detail.”  
“That’s more than fair. I’ll be glad to keep you updated, and a security detail will frankly be welcome.”  
“I’m glad,” Coulson smiled and sipped at his coffee. “Does this mean that you are interested?”  
“Of course. This… It sounds amazing.”  
“I will be your handler, for the time being. Here are my contact details,” Mr. Coulson handed Jamie a cream-colored business card. “And here is your contract.” He pulled a plain manila folder from his suitcase and placed it in front of Jamie.  
“Thanks. Let me…” Jamie fidgeted and twisted in his chair, patting his pants until he found a pen.  
“You don’t have to sign this now, Jamie.” If Jamie didn’t know better, he might have said that Mr. Coulson seemed flustered.  
“I want to. It seems right. Just...” Jamie, maintaining some responsibility, glanced over the few pages in front of him.  
“Is there something you’d like to ask?” Mr. Coulson nudged.  
“Uh, forget it. It’s not important. Kind of rude, actually, too.”  
“Please. Don’t hesitate. What’s on your mind?”  
“Well. Don’t take this the wrong way? It’s just… Did whatever happen to your hand, did it happen on the job?” Jamie blurted.  
Coulson smiled tightly and shifted his left arm in its sling. “It did, as a matter of fact. But it’s my job to make sure nothing like this, and nothing close to this, happens to you.”  
“Right. Okay.”  
“Does that satisfy you, Mr. Carter?”  
“It does, I guess. A guy needs to get out of his comfort zone, I suppose.” Jamie reached forward again to the papers in front of him and, flipping through the pages, signed his name on the dotted lines.  
“James Michael Carter. Is your family from London, by any chance?” Mr. Coulson asked, rather curiously, as he gathered the papers.  
“I have no idea, sir. Adopted young, all I have from my parents is my name,” Jamie replied amicably.  
“Oh, no. Don’t worry about it. Just wondered. There must be plenty of Carters out there.” Coulson shrugged, and offered Jamie his right hand. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Jamie Carter. Looking forward to working with you.”  
“Likewise, Mr. Coulson.” Jamie shook the man’s hand. “I will email you in a week.”  
“Very well. Goodbye, Jamie.”  
“Goodbye, sir.”


	2. November 26, 2015

The next few times that Jamie and Mr. Coulson met, the latter seemed distant, almost distracted. Jamie could tell that the man’s a professional, though, by the way he almost always regained focus within the first ten minutes.   
These meetings were never in the same place twice. Jamie’s research took him across the country, and yet Mr. Coulson never failed to meet him, wherever he might have been. On that cold, gray morning, the two men sat in a Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf branch in San Diego, which Jamie used to frequent while finishing his bachelor’s at the U of C campus in town. He had been perusing the library in his old alma mater, mapping out Native American tribes in Mexico and South America with mythological stories of supernatural beings.   
Jamie was late to this meeting, having gotten caught up in his work, and had rushed into the café. Consequently, obviously, he had tripped on thin air, straight into his chair.   
“Sorry,” he grinned. “It’s good to see you, Mr. C. How have you been?”   
“I’ve been well. Thank you.” Jamie could not help but notice Coulson’s left hand flexing slightly as he answered.   
“How’s your hand? I hope you don’t mind my asking,” Jamie added quickly.   
“Not at all. I’m on my third hand now, trying to get back to normalcy.” That flex again, almost a tick.   
“Uh, this teacher that I really liked in middle school, she told me once that it’s hard to get back to normal in one area, when nothing else feels normal,” the younger man offered shyly.   
Coulson’s tight smile suddenly widened. “That’s a wise teacher you had. I’ll keep that in mind.”   
Jamie smiled back at the thoughtful man in front of him, and then twisted to wave to a waitress. He caught her staring at him, and she started. Grabbing her notebook and a pen, she came over.   
“Hello, and welcome to The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf. My name is Hanna, and I’ll be your waitress. Are you two ready to order?” The words tumbled out of her mouth as if all she wanted was to leave.   
“Yes, please. I’ll have a large Americano,” said Coulson.  
“I’ll have a caramel-flavored coffee, the regular size,” added Jamie.   
“One large Americano and one Café Caramel, coming right up.” Hanna the waitress hurried off.   
“Oh,” Jamie jumped and faced forward again. “Before I forget - although, who am I kidding, you definitely wouldn’t have forgotten - I have the expenses file for you.” He fished a manila folder out of his bag and clutched it tightly, having already scattered the small receipts it contained not once, but twice. Coulson reached forward, slid the file toward him and opened it. He flipped through the receipts, and as he did, an amused smile crept on his face.   
“What? What’s so funny?” Coulson opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by Hanna’s return. She placed their orders in front of them, hands shaking.   
“Miss, are you alright?” Coulson’s alarmed eyes were drawn to her red, puffy ones.   
“I’m sorry. Gosh, I’m so sorry to lay this on you,” she gushed. “It’s just, you see, mister, my dad just passed away, this is our first Thanksgiving without him, and here are the two of you. You’re wonderful.” She turned to Jamie. “Don’t ever push your dad away, you hear me? Don’t ever.”  
Jamie blinked.   
“Oh. Oh! Oh, this is not my father. I’m sorry. Uh, no, this is just work. We work together.” Jamie’s hand instinctively jumped out toward the weeping waitress, and then drew back. After another moment, he got up and hugged her.   
“There, there. It’s okay. Your dad loved you. You’re good. It’s going to be fine. Just fine…” As Jamie patted Hanna awkwardly, he smiled apologetically at Coulson. He could sort of see it, the resemblance she must have seen. Both men were white and slightly tan, with light brown hair and bright blue eyes, both fit that so-called “All-American Look”. And the older man was definitely the right age to be Jamie’s father.   
“Oh, gosh.” The waitress tore away from Jamie, and rushed toward the restrooms. Stunned, he sat back down.   
“So, where were we?”   
“Your expenses, I believe.” That smirk returned to Coulson’s lips.   
“Right, yeah. So what was so funny?”   
“Your expenses, I believe.”   
Jamie waited. Coulson smiled.   
“Uh, okay. What about my expenses?”   
“Well, they include train tickets, Greyhound stubs, a lot of supermarket receipts with the word ‘ramen’ in its various forms. It’s not what I expected. Not what I usually receive under expenses. International flights, UPS vans, fire hydrants, and five-star hotels - those I see all the time.”   
“I was trying to… It’s not my money to spend,” Jamie shrugged timidly.   
“You haven’t yet made a dent in making a dent in your budget. And, try as you may, you will never make more than a dent in it.” Coulson leaned forward, a kind look in his eyes.   
“I honestly don’t need any more than that. Really.”   
“Don’t be shy, then, when you do need something bigger.”   
“I promise. Actually, I meant to bring this up: I want to head down to South America, there’s a tribe, the Guarani people, who might have some answers. So, Bolivia, Paraguay, that area.” Jamie pulled his phone out. “Here, I’ll send you what I have, the preliminary plans and what I’ll need.”   
Coulson’s phone buzzed, but he did not look down.   
“You’ll need a security detail, and I’m sure you put a car on that list, but I think flying will be more efficient and frankly, more comfortable. How long are you planning to spend down there?”   
“At least two months, maybe longer. It really depends on the people I find, and how nice they find me.”   
“Do you need a guide?”   
“I’ll find someone local, I think. I’m good with languages, and my stepmom is Latina, so my Spanish is very good. Not that dialect, maybe, but I have a good start.”   
The two men continued discussing details while their beverages grow cold, until Mr. Coulson’s phone rang.   
“Coulson. Yes. Yes, I know, he told me-- He went WHERE? Has he made any contact? Of course not. Alright, I’m on my way.”   
Coulson got up, gathering his things.   
“It appears I have a man in Morocco, who should not be there. I will be in contact with you soon.”   
Coulson all but marched out of the café, and Jamie waved at his back.   
“Bly me. I’m flying to South America.”


End file.
